Consider the lilies

Easter Sunday 8 am Eucharist

Consider the Lilies,

Revd Ed Cearns

Consider the lilies of the field, how Solomon in all his raiment was not clothed as one of these.

As we knelt and then bowed at the altar of repose on Maundy Thursday, I noticed the sweet fragrance of the Easter lilies, in contrast to the harsh words of the Gospel reading of Jesus' arrest and total abandonment by his disciples & friends.

Later that evening I found myself again at St Ann's altar, gazing at the veiled sacrament and I was struck in the candlelight by the beauty of the flowers surrounding the sacrament and was reminded of the garden where they lay Our Lord.

I was surprised to remember that it is John‘s gospel that speaks of the encounter in the garden between the Gardener and Mary. Surprised because, perhaps unfairly, I tend to think of John's gospel as having the richest theology of the incarnation, but not always the immediate tenderness and intimacy of some of the other accounts.

However, it is John that captures this encounter between woman and risen Lord in such human terms: in this intimate exchange we find Mary Magdalene- alone - as is often the case , the men have run away – asking the Gardener what they have done with her master‘s body.

I felt something of that intimacy as I sat there and as I looked, I found myself marvelling at the artistry of the arrangement surrounding the blessed sacrament , outside I could hear the noise and merriment of a Thursday night on the street and in the pubs and cafes ; which at once felt so near and distant.

I returned my attention to the scene in front of me ; the lilies with their sweet fragrance incensing the night air. Flowers in the quiet sadness of this holiest of nights both as companions of Christ in Gethsemane and hinting at the promise of the Easter blooms to come.

On Holy Saturday the same lilies sat patiently in the north aisle ; this time in serried ranks on the sidelines whilst in Morning Prayer we remembered and entered into the desolation and solitude of the Psalmist:

“Listen to my cry, for I am brought very low .

save me from my persecutors, for they are too strong for me .

Bring my soul out of prison, that I may give thanks to your name. “

Later that morning in the industry of preparing the church and as the smell of beeswax perfumed the air, those lilies of remembrance joined their friends: freisers, astromelia, ranunculus and others as gorgeous bounty filling windowsill and heart with joy.

And yet I wonder if, like me, the pains of this year, (for me with the death of my father), or other grief you may carry , make you feel not ready for Easter or perhaps the uncertainties of the global stage have led you to desire the hope and promise of Easter more than ever before .

I think wherever we are emotionally, the lilies are there too, the lilies of remembrance accompanying Christ in the loneliness of our Gethsemane garden on Thursday are the same that join in floral festive Alleluias this Easter Day.

Wherever we are today, so is Christ.

To put it another way, the cross is at once a symbol and place of death;

A place deep of darkness and hideous torment but also a place of redemption and new life.

But, of course, many continue to live in the darkness of Good Friday : the people of Gaza continue to be bombed ; in Jerusalem this week bomb alerts went off on people’s phones as the faithful began to follow Christ's footsteps to the cross on the Via Dolorosa . Meanwhile the war in Ukraine continues as the international community pursues its very dangerous game of who blinks first and closer to home; just this week Supreme Court judges have ruled that apparently not all are created equally in the eyes of the law.

We continue to live in disturbing and unsettling times, but then so did Mary : her people, just as now, under occupation and her friend and teacher put on a sham trial and brutally executed.

In her grief, and in the half light of dawn, she mistakes Jesus as the gardener and even in her recognition we can only imagine at the range of stirred up emotions she felt as she rushed to tell of the impossible news.

Consider the lilies then as our Lord invites us to. With such fleeting beauty to fragrance Holy Week . As Mary recognised her Lord, as he broke the silence of the early morning of the solitude of the garden with its morning fragrance, so will we too recognise our Lord as we break the bread?

Can we accept that the beauty and pain of the garden can coexist; that the lilies of Easter may at once be companionship in loneliness, remembrance in grief and joy in Easter hope?